


Can I Kiss You Goodbye?

by owlbsurfinbird



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Friendship/Love, M/M, Missing Scene, S9E6 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:31:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5225360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlbsurfinbird/pseuds/owlbsurfinbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They didn't need to say goodbye at the airport.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can I Kiss You Goodbye?

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to the incomparable Wendymr, for encouragement, beta-reading and Brit-pick.

"I didn't think you'd hunt me down." James stood aside to let Robbie into his flat. "Left early to see my dad."

"How is he?" Robbie's gaze skittered over the stacks of books on the couch, the table, and the floor. His voice seemed to echo against the walls and bare floors.

James allowed his irritation to wash over him, cooling the flush that came to his cheeks. Bad enough Nell being on at him to tidy up, he didn't need his last conversation with Robbie to be about the state of his flat. Should he feel grateful or trapped because Robbie had sought him out to force him to say goodbye? Hard to know how he felt since he didn't know what he wanted.

Well, he did want another drink.

Robbie pursed his lips, as if he wanted to say something. He perched on the edge of the couch and idly picked up the photo of the family out fishing that James had been looking at moments before. He set it aside to finger a Wikipedia printout of clipper ship routes across the Southern Ocean. Robbie raised his eyebrows questioningly as he glanced at James.

"Dad's fine," James lied. "Drink?" He was in the middle of, what, his third glass of wine? He'd lost count. He wandered into the kitchen seeking a glass.

Robbie followed him, apparently taking it all in. He frowned slightly before pulling his face into a neutral mask.

James caught himself before he sighed. His kitchen, like the rest of his flat, was in a state. Glasses, mostly. He couldn't be bothered to take the empty bottles out to the recycle bin. It was an impressive collection, punctuated by the occasional empty bottle of single malt. He probably should feel embarrassed. Glancing at Robbie's reaction, he did feel embarrassed, but only for a moment. His father was dying, for fuck's sake. If he chose to drink heavily, what of it?

"The cleaning service we use does a nice job," Robbie said gently. "Laura's probably left their card stuck to the fridge. You've got the key. Give them a ring while we're gone." He rolled up his sleeves, turned on the tap.

"What are you doing?"

Robbie gave him a pointed look. "The washing-up."

"No, you're not." James opened a cupboard. "Here, clean glass." It was the last one.

The sink was filling with water, Fairy bubbles, glasses. Coffee cups sat on the counter, waiting to go in. Robbie ignored him, hunting for the dish brush.

"Please don't, Robbie." This was too much. The physical humiliation was almost painful. "That water's too hot."

"Hot water, no spots." Robbie's forearms glistened with soap bubbles as he quickly wiped the inside of the glass he held. With a quick rinse, he set it in the drainer, picked up another.

James stood, hip against the counter, mesmerized. In and out with the brush, hot steam rising. Cleansing and absolution. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and he hated himself for that, the weakness. It was better to be angry, better to be hard, sarcastic, aloof. Better to make a joke. Emotion? Tenderness? _We don't hold hands._

"Fancy place like this, you could've managed a dishwasher."

"I have you," James said automatically. "Sorry." He dropped his head, shaking it slightly, feeling like an arse. He looked away, not wanting to see how Robbie was restoring order. Typical of the man, making things right.

For the first time in weeks, he really looked at the mess. Stacks of his father's papers on the kitchen table. The cardboard box of his father's junk abandoned in a corner.

He knew his fridge was filled with moldy vegetables, good intentions gone bad. Pierce and ping that he couldn't bring himself to eat. He'd lost weight, but the three piece suit hid it well. He shuffled his feet uncomfortably, noting the gritty sound his foot made on the floor. It was almost a crime scene, but was he the perpetrator or the victim? He couldn't decide. "Robbie, please stop."

"Almost done, though." The drainer was nearly full. "Might dry those."

Ah, tea towel. Where were the—there. He started drying. Robbie didn't usually rinse. Waste of water to his mind, he had told them. James and Laura had nagged him about it. Before James's dad, before Nell, before this sad mess, the three of them had had dinners together at the house Robbie and Laura shared. Robbie and his culinary discoveries. Laura's patience as she took over the meal so that it would be edible. Lovely, warm evenings.

He and Robbie would do the washing-up, had companionably bickered with each other over how it should be done. But here, now, Robbie was rinsing the glasses without being chided. Laura had worked wonders where James never could. It was a small observation that speared his heart. "You don't have to do this."

"Had to be done if I wanted a drink with you before I left."

They stood shoulder to shoulder, washing and drying, and it hit James suddenly that it had been weeks since he'd felt that companionable pressure at his side. He leaned in slightly, as he used to do, and felt Robbie do the same, as he used to do.

God, he had missed this.

James inhaled deeply. Not good. Any second the dam would burst. He clamped his lips together, chewing the inside of his lip, and thought of a distraction. Rowing, yes, rowing. Oars cutting into choppy, icy water. Racing. Time and distance. Clipper ships would cover the distance over the Southern Ocean in 100 days. It would take 120 to return. Robbie and Laura would be gone for 180 days. It would take them an entire day to fly there. Robbie's back would be killing him six hours in. He was going half-way around the world for Laura because he loved her.

He was doing dishes for James.

They hadn't talked about the row they'd had. _Do you love Laura?_ Almost an accusation rather than a question. Because he knew the answer. Had watched it play out, slowly, tentatively over the last few years. Even now, he wondered if Laura knew how much Robbie loved her.

_Show her that you love her. Don't assume that she knows. People make that assumption and it's a mistake._ He'd said it because _some_ people don't know that they are being loved.

And yet Robbie had been willing to chuck it all to stay on with policing. Mindboggling. Who would willingly give up love?

_He_ would. Had.

Robbie set the brush aside, drained the water, and took the tea towel from James to dry his hands. "There." The last of the clean glasses went into the drainer, an oasis of order in the chaotic kitchen. His eyes were very blue and terribly kind as he looked at James. "You can finish the rest after we have that drink."

"Thank you, Robbie. I could kiss you," James said, sarky. And then he realized he meant it. Wanted to. Felt butterflies in his stomach as he considered it.

"You could," said Robbie easily, leaning back against the counter, smiling sunnily as if he expected a wind up. He set his hands on either side of himself, resting on the counter, and glanced to the clean glasses on the draining board. "Proper payment for a job well done. And I've Laura's permission for a 'proper goodbye snog', if you've a mind to."

"She didn't."

"Did. Rang her before I left the nick. She said, 'Go and say goodbye to your awkward sod, then. A proper snog from both of us, so that you're not weeping at the airport. And don't come home with stubble rash. The relatives would never understand.'"

_Bless you, Laura._ "Long flight, it would probably fade."

"Don't want to take chances, though." Robbie extended a cheek. "Give us a kiss, then."

James conceded this with a snort. He could joke about it, he realized, could kiss Robbie on the cheek, could make him laugh, could see him out the door after a drink, could wish him well, but that would only cover up how much he was going to miss the man.

He couldn't bring himself to do it. Wouldn't stop at the cheek. He'd take Robbie in his arms and yes, there would be weeping and there would be stubble rash there on his face—and in places Laura probably wouldn't expect or forgive.

He ducked his head, put his hand in his pockets, thinking. He thought too damn much, that was the problem. He was adept at goodbyes, had said plenty in his time, though none of them well. How to say goodbye when you didn't want someone to go?

"Down to me, then. Been reading about the Maoris."

"Sorry?"

"I do my own research, now and again. Saw your maps and such, too. So have you read about 'hongi'?"

"Not yet." James reached for the mobile in his pocket.

Robbie reached for James, stopping him. His fingers were warm from washing the dishes. He looked at his hand on James's arm.

James stared at Robbie's hand on his arm and felt twin beginnings of alarm and hope. But he couldn't, he wasn't, going to let this go any further, no matter what sort of permission Laura believed she was giving them. In any other instance, it would be patronizing, but she knew how much they all cared for one another, how much they trusted one another. She had been willing to leave Robbie, if that was what he wanted. _Amazing woman._ Robbie deserved no less than an amazing woman.

And James would be the amazing friend, who would smile and say a proper manly goodbye. No weeping or kissing as a joke. No stubble rash, don't be ridiculous. No, a half hug, clap on the back, see you when you return. He could do that. Or he could be silly. Give in. _Be silly or be serious? Tempting. Simply kiss him goodbye. Would be my only chance. Make a joke afterwards. 'Nothing like one of my kisses to send you fleeing halfway across the planet, eh, sir?'_

Robbie squeezed his arm reassuringly and smiled; the warmth of his touch spread from James's arm through his body and made his toes curl. He saw kindness in Robbie's eyes. Love. Trust. He saw the pupils in those very blue eyes grow large, and watched as Robbie canted his head just a little to one side, as if he, too, was weighing the options and their consequences.

"'Hongi'," Robbie finally said in a soft voice, "is how Maoris greet each other. It's the intermingling of each other's breath, the 'ha'. They believe it's a sharing of life force. The comingling of one's soul with another. If your soul is shared, you never have to say goodbye."

His heart pounded. He tried to moisten his lips, but his mouth had gone dry. What was Robbie suggesting?

"Comingling and sharing souls. Bit metaphysical for you."

"Thought you'd appreciate it." Robbie stepped directly in front of him then, almost, but not quite touching. He searched James's face as he brought his hands up, touching his face tentatively, as if watching for the sudden jerk of denial, a squint of repulsion, sadness, anything from James that might indicate that what he was about to do was a horrible idea.

"The Maoris press their noses and foreheads together like this and breathe."

"Like the Inuit practice of rubbing noses."

"Got it in one, clever clogs."

James gave a tiny shake of his head and a faint laugh on the exhale.

Robbie leaned in, his nose and forehead pressed against James's own, his warm hands cupping either side of James's face, standing so close that their hearts pounded: fast, insistent. Their faces hot, breathing quickly, unevenly. Their lips so, so close to touching.

James ached. _Kiss him. Do it. Just kiss him goodbye. You'll never have another chance. You have Laura's blessing, for fuck's sake. Just kiss him._

He couldn't. It wasn't who they were. It would change everything and Robbie would still leave with Laura.

So. Hongi. Thinking of Robbie researching Maori customs, battling the internet, discovering this greeting, and then seizing this custom to safely express his feelings—it was absolutely endearing. James smiled slightly, the shape of his face changing between Robbie's palms. Because Robbie needed this affirmation of their importance to one another, too. They loved each other. It wasn't something either of them could acknowledge to the other, but it was there just the same: more than friends, less than lovers. _Thank God Laura understands._

They stood, breathing together, sharing each other's life force, for the longest time. They'd started breathing in unison almost immediately, each knowing the measure of the other, just as they did when walking or talking. The rhythm of their friendship. Eyes open, each trusting the other not to laugh at the picture they must make: two men standing in a kitchen, their foreheads and noses pressed together, staring at one another and breathing.

Robbie's forehead and nose were soft, warm from the steam, smelling of Fairy Liquid. James relaxed, closed his eyes, relishing the warmth, and imagined his thoughts seeping into Robbie's skull. _You saved me. Not just from the fire, but from loneliness, from myself._ He breathed, knowing that in each deep breath, he was taking a bit of Robbie into his lungs.

He wondered what Robbie was thinking, could almost feel it as an itch inside his head, an echo of his own thoughts. Maybe what he thought he was thinking was what Robbie was thinking. Didn't matter, not really.

Time and distance would separate them. Six months. Over eleven thousand miles. But Robbie had found a way for them to share each other's souls. The man was brilliant.

And as they parted, Robbie looked deeply into James's eyes. "And no stubble rash."

"Or weeping." James gave him a fond smile.

"Ha," said Robbie softly. "Now we never have to say goodbye."

"Ha, ha," whispered James. "I will hold you to that, Robert Lewis."


End file.
